


The Wrong Side of the Glass

by arlum42



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Love, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:43:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlum42/pseuds/arlum42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alana comes to visit Will in prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Side of the Glass

"Will." Her voice is loud and clear in his ear, unlike her face which is marked with the dirt and stains that cover the glass dividing between them.

"Alana." 

"How've you been?" she asks, knowing it's a dumb question but unable to come up with anything else.

Will smiles – well, it looks more like pain than happiness. "Great, what can I say? Good food, even better company. They even let us out sometimes!" he says mockingly.   
He knows he shouldn't take his anger out on her, but if he speaks that way with the other inmates it's not going to end up so well.

She lets him. It's not her fault and she's done nothing wrong, but he hasn't either. She mentions that now, just like she does every time she comes to visit. "I've been   
talking to Jack, Will, and I'm going to have them take another look at the eviden-"

Will cuts her off angrily. "Alana, stop it. Just give it up. I'm in here for good and you better start getting used to the idea, because it's not going to change anytime   
soon. You shouldn't be spending your time on pointless impossible tasks."

She looks at him. He's changed – prison life has taken its toll. He always looks sick nowadays– that pale, sickly color his skin used to change to when he'd had his   
fevers, the dark, empty eyes, that permanent fear mixed with sadness that taints every feature of his face and even his general movements. "I don't believe it."

"The ear in my sink did. And so did the blood under my nails."

"Will, you loved her like your own daughter." Alana looks down, trying to stop the tears threatening to burst. She can't cry now. She has to show Will that she's serious. 

"Maybe he did what Hobbes couldn't do," Will replies quietly, quoting Jack. He watches as Alana winces when he says those words. 

They sit there in silence for a while, just staring at each other. Alana keeps her hands held tightly in her lap, knowing that if she puts one up to the glass like she's   
seen other visitors do, trying to hold hands with their loved ones; she won't be able to hold back the tears any more. 

"How are the dogs?" Will asks, trying to change the subject.

"I hate them," she replies. 

"You can just give them away," he tells her.

"Or I can just bring you back."

"Alana, please. Stop it. You're making it harder for both of us." Will looks at her. God, she's beautiful. Her hair is just the way it was the night they first kissed, and she   
looks even more beautiful – if that were even possible – in the light. 

"No, Will. You stop it. You're making it harder for both of us," she throws his sentence back at him angrily. 

Will waits. He realizes she's going to leave soon. These meetings never end pleasantly, and yet she always returns the next week at the exact same hour to see him   
again. In a sudden unplanned move he reaches out – for the first time ever, and after swearing to himself he'd never do something so silly and self-harming – and   
places his palm on the divider between them. 

That does it. She breaks, her gaze faltering for just a fragment of a second as her body convulses with a silent ripple of pain. "I'm not holding your hand here, Will. Not   
like this. You may think it's the only option we have but I don't," she says as loudly as she can without attracting looks from the other couples in the room. "You're not   
a prisoner – you're a locked up mistake, and we're going to get you back on the right side of this fucking glass. I'll hold your hand when you show up at my door and   
pick up your damn dogs." 

With that sentence she slams the phone down, gets up and leaves.

But not before Will sees the single tear that's managed to break free, slide down her skin and hit the table. He watches it now, the salty drop left behind, sitting on the   
other side of the glass.


End file.
